


A Leap of Faith

by uumuu



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Major Character Undeath, Treat Fic, Trick or Treat 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-29 00:59:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5110634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uumuu/pseuds/uumuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Celegorm and Curufin are too dead to die again in Doriath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Leap of Faith

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amyfortuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/gifts).



Screams have quieted down in the heart of Menegroth, the din of battle extinguished after the cry went up that Díor was dead. 

Celegorm stands in the middle of the carnage, under vaulted roofs once filled with song, Díor's sword jutting out from his chest. It has pierced clean through his heart, embedding itself in him almost all the way to the hilt. But Celegorm still stands.

What's already dead cannot be killed again, Curufin reminds himself, as he picks his way towards him through charred bodies. Even knowing that, he had felt a spike of dread upon witnessing the scene, and everybody around him had gone up in flames, enemies and friends alike. Worry still grips him when he stands before Celegorm, but a smile from his brother eases it. Curufin's expression softens and his strung body unwinds. His fingers wrap around the hilt of the sword. He makes to tug it back.

Celegorm grasps his wrist with his right hand, coated with dried-up gore. “Be...gentle,” he tells him.

“Of course,” Curufin replies softly, bowing his head.

He tugs the sword out with an assured, resolute movement. Celegorm throws his head back and lets out a wild gasp, as if caught in the thrill of the kill, or the throes of passion. The wound sputters viscous blood then closes itself up back again, and the only evidence that he was ever hurt at all is the gash in his armour. Curufin tosses the sword away. It clanks across the floor and ends up jammed under a stack of corpses.

Díor's twin sons, huddled on the other side of the room, shudder at the sound. They have seen their father lunge at the taller Noldo and plunge his sword, and then how Celegorm had seemingly hugged him to himself, before his hands had clasped his neck and snapped his head clean off his shoulders. 

Their fear is great, and Celegorm can now sense it as if it were something material, raw as the matter of his own body. 

His true body, hidden under a veil, is reduced to a jumble of exposed bones and mangled flesh. He sacrificed it, surrendered it to Arda by giving himself to a pack of wolves. Curufin for his part had chosen fire, and his skin is charred and blackened all over. A voluntary death to ward off the threat of hopeless death, and now their physical form too is tied to the life of Arda.

Celegorm lowers his head and turns towards the boys. His eyes blink slowly once, twice before focusing on the pair, and he jerks into motion. 

Eluréd and Elurin scoot back in terror, until they hit the wall at their back, and then they hug each other, trying to hide their faces. 

Celegorm looms over them and they close their eyes, trembling uncontrollably.

Celegorm crouches down before them. 

“Hey, little ones,” he says, in a voice that is silkily gentle. 

He stretches his right hand towards them, but the twins whimper, and retch at the scent of blood that wafts up from him.

Celegorm smiles. “Do not be afeared. I am not going to hurt you,” he coos. “Your father made a mistake, and I had to kill him, but I promise I will not hurt you.”

Curufin comes up behind him, observing the scene in silence.

“I have twin brothers too...I used to babysit them when they were little. I carried them both in my arms, lulled them if they were sad or hurt.”

Celegorm's tone is even and measured, never rising or dropping from calm reassurance. It's the same he uses with the orphaned younglings of animals he's used to taking care of, vulnerable, desperate creatures whose fear is as pure and as utter as the twins'. 

“I could do the same with you. I could take you to your mommy. You want to see your mommy again, don't you?”

The mention of their mother effects a little change in the twins' posture. Their trembling abates somewhat, and they start paying attention to what Celegorm tells them. 

Celegorm notes it with satisfaction. “She got lost in the fray, but I'm sure she is all right. We don't want to hurt her, we just need her to give us back our treasure, our hope. And I'm sure your mommy wants to be with you, too.”

He pauses, giving the twins time to absorb his words.

“So, do you want me to take you to her?”

The prospect of being reunited with their mother, of being safe again and far from all the screams and the blood lures twins, and they don't notice when Celegorm lays a hand on their back and begins brushing it up and down in a soothing gesture. After a while, one of the two – Eluréd – timidly looks up. 

“Y-you...won't hurt us?” he asks in a tiny voice.

Celegorm nods solemnly. “I swear it.”

His hands slowly draw the twins to himself. He feels both tense in his hold, but a couple delicate pats on their backs breaks their last resistance, and they huddle at his sides. He circles each with a strong arm, and lifts them.

“There. Now close your eyes, and hold onto me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Not exactly zombies, sorry. Also no, he's not going to abandon them in the forest.


End file.
